Haven
by psquare
Summary: Post 6.22. Sam opens a road to redemption for Castiel.


_**A/N:**_ 6.22 reaction fic! I will warn you upfront that this was very, _very_ impromptu, and sinfully self-indulgent. It's weird and just, kind of depressing. Also: not-so-happy ending.

**Summary: **Sam opens a road to redemption for Castiel.

**Warnings: **SPOILERS for s6 including 6.22: _The Man Who Knew Too Much_. References to gore and torture, insanity, industrial-strength angst, _complete weirdness_, present-tense, lots of self-indulgence, metaphor-abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_ or any of its characters.

**_Haven_**

Sam is sure that Castiel knows.

There are a hundred billion things inside the angel now. Sam can see them straining around the edges: little wisps of dark cloud that coil around Castiel's body, each crying out, yearning to break free. If he listens just right, beneath the words that fall from Castiel and Dean and Bobby's lips, beneath the pulse of blood in his ears and the rush of wind—he can hear the swell of countless voices crying out in agony.

_FREE FREE FREE FREE—_

He's heard it before. Can still hear it—sometimes Lucifer would (_will_) gather Sam to his side like he was (_is_) his favourite child and observe Hell. _Look at them_, Lucifer would say, gesturing expansively to the billions crawling in their own blood and waste, trailing entrails and bits of flayed skin. _They're here because of you. We are both architects of this brilliance, Sammy. _

And they would (_will_) scream for mercy and freedom, continue to scream even when they have no voice and are spitting out the contents of their throats in great globs of mangled flesh, and Sam would (_will_) turn to Lucifer and beg to be taken back to the rack.

_PLEASE FREE FREE FREE PL—_

He wonders if Castiel can hear anything else. He wonders if there is any space left in Castiel's head to consider anything but those voices.

He wonders if there's anything left of Castiel at all.

The angel is in front of him now. Just past Castiel's shoulder, Sam can see Dean and Bobby kneeling – Dean, a curious mixture of fury and resignation; Bobby, his face a mask of pure fear. Castiel places two fingers on his forehead and says, "Sam," and the world – already wavering at the edges – fissures and explodes and there is nothing left but darkness.

* * *

><p>Sam wakes up to Castiel's face staring into his own and to Dean shouting in the background. Funnily enough, he can't make out a single thing Dean's saying; all he understands is what's inside Castiel right now.<p>

"Sam," Castiel says again.

(_look at what you've gotten yourself into. what good did your soul do to you?_)

No, Sam tells himself. I had to come back whole. I had to.

(_right. and while you were out there playing bleeding heart, your angel buddy goes and swallows purgatory. i could've stopped him in time._)

NO. Sam knows he's done the right thing. He will cling to that with all he has left, which, admittedly, is not much.

_CAN YOU HEAR THEM, SAM?_ comes another voice from inside of him. It's screaming. It will always scream. _DO YOU REMEMBER?_

I remember, Sam says. I remember it all, and I will use that knowledge to help him.

"No, Sam," Castiel says. "You cannot handle the fractured remains of your own soul; do not presume you can counsel _me_."

And he disappears.

Dean runs over to him, then, and Sam can only stare, because for all that he hears Dean's voice, he doesn't understand a word Dean's saying. You don't make sense, Sam tells him. Speak English.

But it's no use. Dean rages and Dean cries and Dean screams to the heavens in anguish, but all Sam can understand now is the roar of Purgatory's souls in the back of his head, and the two pieces of him that should never have existed.

* * *

><p>Sam wonders if Dean is finally ready to give up on him.<p>

They're in Bobby's house – have always been in Bobby's house; it's where the mortally wounded Winchester crawls to die. Whether it was in the aftermath of their father's death or Dean's death or starting the Apocalypse or standing at the brink of destruction with no hope of defeating the devil, it's always been Bobby's house that's been witness to their darkest despairs.

Sam eats and drinks and lives with a head full of voices that never fade; Dean just drinks until he passes out and tries to talking to Sam less and less everyday; Bobby watches them and despairs.

There is only so much they can take, after all. Dean should be ready to give up now.

Sam knows he is.

(_you probably think you're some kind of martyr. how disgusting._)

I'm not, Sam says, shrugging. Dean jerks his head up, but doesn't react otherwise; he's learnt by now that Sam's not really talking to him. I need to go. I need to get away. For all of their sakes. I'm a liability – surely you can understand that.

(_you've always been a liability, even when you're __**not **__coo coo for cocoa puffs. castiel just took your self-absorbed wrangling and multiplied it by a thousand. you trap yourself, sam. you always have_.)

Maybe you're right. Maybe it's time I finally did something about this.

_THERE IS A HELL RIGHT INSIDE YOUR HEAD, SAM. THERE IS PLACE FOR CASTIEL'S TORMENT, AND YOUR OWN_.

Yes. Yes, there is.

The next day, Sam falls asleep and never wakes up again.

* * *

><p>He meets Castiel in that forest where he reunited with the first of the walled-off bits of himself. Castiel is a pathetic little thing, torn and bleeding, bent and bowed like the very air is crushing him into a ball. His eyes widen when he sees Sam; he staggers toward him, sways like he's going to topple over, and Sam rushes forward and catches his shoulders before he falls. Both of them sink to their knees on the leaf-strewn ground.<p>

_FREE FREE FREE FR—_

"Cas," Sam says, "You have to let me help you."

Castiel's head sags onto Sam's shoulder. "No," he says. "I have harmed you enough."

(_true enough. turn back __**now**__, sam._)

"Do you remember when you first came to fetch me from the Cage, Cas?" Sam smiles. "Lucifer'd barely started with me. He wasn't going to give me up just like that; especially not to someone like _you_.

"But you're still his brother, Castiel. I can feel it even now. He loves you so much, even when he doesn't want to. So he gave you half of what you wanted—and. And, some more."

Castiel looks up at him, eyes bloodshot and hazy with wonder. "Brother—"

Sam shakes his head. "Not here. But what he created in my head—it's enough to hold all of the souls and lock them away forever, Cas." His voice is starting to tremble. "Please, Cas. Let me help you."

To his surprise, Castiel laughs. "Dean," he says. "He must be so disappointed. Sam, I _wanted_—I tried so desperately to be what I thought he'd want me to be. And I failed. I've failed him, and you, and God Himself—"

Sam tightens his grip, leans more until Castiel's hair is tickling his nostrils. "I know. But there's nothing you've done that's so bad that you can't be forgiven."

(_useless sap_.)

Sam snorts, but Castiel is already moving; the angel stands and straightens, although the shoulders are too rigid, lines of stress carved like sigils in his face. "This is what Dean wants," he says, and Sam knows it's a question. Castiel is still looking to them for judgment, and this saddens him, because they do not judge – not anymore – all they have is love, and that is all they can afford to share.

"Yes," Sam says. "This is what he wants."

"Then I am ready."

The howl of the souls of Purgatory picks up then (_TRAPPED AND CLAWING AND BURNING_) and Sam stands up and embraces Castiel and feels them all rise up and move and feels them claw at his insides as they use him and what he is as a conduit to their home and it hurts but he knows that this is nothing nothing _nothing_—

"Thank you," Castiel breathes against his neck. "Thank you."

Sam closes his eyes.

* * *

><p>"Sam."<p>

It's Dean. His voice has got this strange, wobbly quality to it, like he's talking from under water and Sam experiences a moment of sharp panic before he snaps awake. He sees a night sky full of stars, feels the prickly dampness of fresh grass under his back, smells a hint of salt in the air, and hears... nothing.

There are no voices.

Only Dean.

"Thank god, I thought you were never going to wake up."

Dean appears above him, and he's grinning. "Y'know," he says casually, "you were lying there so long I thought: hey, weird place, weirder angels, maybe this is some Sleeping Beauty enactment and I was supposed to kiss you." His grin widens. "But then I remembered this is Heaven, not Hell."

Sam sits up slowly and blinks at his brother. "That was stupid," he says. "You're dead, and you're _still_ not funny."

Dean laughs. "Got a rep to maintain, Sammy."

Sam gets to his feet and looks around. The Impala is parked a little distance away, gleaming in the moonlight. There is nothing but lush green expanse for miles around, and when Sam turns to look at Dean again, his brother's smile is splitting his face wide open. "We're really here, Sam."

"But you—you couldn't have come here unless—"

Dean's smile fades a little. "Cas, uh. Cas got us both here." He shakes his head. "That was a shitty stunt you pulled back there."

"It worked, though, didn't it?" Sam begins to stalk toward the Impala, hands buried in his jacket pockets though the weather is pretty much a perfect balance of chill and warm. "Did he say anything to you?"

Dean looks away. "Nope. Nothing much."

They share a moment of awkward silence before Sam says, "So. I'm stumped. What memory is this?"

At this, Dean gives a delighted little laugh and actually rubs his hands together. "In the trunk, dude. Check it out."

Sam does, to find—

"Fourth of July," he breathes. He laughs disbelievingly. "Wait a second. The day we almost burnt up that—"

"Yep. For godssake, Sam, get 'em out already."

They spend an eternal night watching the sky explode in colour.

* * *

><p>A week later, Dean, Bobby and Castiel watch Sam's body burn. There are no tears in Dean's eyes; Castiel knows he will try to join his brother sooner rather than later, and that Bobby lives in deathly fear of the same. There is an air of inevitability to the ritual, and Castiel wishes he can <em>show<em>: show the safe haven he's put Sam in, show that he's tried to return the younger Winchester's favour as best as he can.

Eternity in a memory with as true a fabrication of his brother as Castiel could manage.

There is a part of him that doesn't sit at ease with this; but _no_. After all, he's only doing what he can to ensure Sam's well-being: just as he knows that Sam lied that his sacrifice was Dean's intention (as if it ever could be) he knows this lie he's built for Sam will keep the man's torn-apart mind together.

He holds onto this, for he knows it has to be _right_.

Holds on even as Dean finally breaks down, sinks to the ground and repeats his brother's name in a broken litany.

Holds on.

_**Finis**_


End file.
